


Pentas Lanceolata

by VonVarleys



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, Cyril Week (Fire Emblem), Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Gen, The abuse in this fic is canon-typical for Cyril unfortunately, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27134869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VonVarleys/pseuds/VonVarleys
Summary: What if Cyril was able to join Edelgard in her war against the Church? What if Cyril escaped Rhea's influence? What if Cyril was able to cut his own path, in a rebuilt Fódlan and beyond?
Relationships: Catherine & Cyril, Cyril & Petra Macneary, Cyril & Shamir Nevrand
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7
Collections: Cyril Week 2020





	Pentas Lanceolata

**Author's Note:**

> Pentas Lanceolata is the name of a tiny, bright red flower. A small crimson flower. 
> 
> The character death warning is for something that happens in chapter two.

The beginning of the chain of events that would change the course of Cyril’s life forever took place under the breezeway outside the knights’ hall. He had just finished sweeping out the autumn leaves when the leader of the Black Eagle house approached him. Strange, he thought. Edelgard had always seemed so far above him. 

“Cyril, are you busy, or do we have a moment to chat?” she asked.

He appreciated that she had bothered to ask. He was usually in too much of a rush to stop and talk, but today he had enough time to exchange a few words, he supposed. “Yeah, we can talk for a little bit. What do you want?” 

“I want to ask you about a hypothetical situation,” said Edelgard. “Currently, you answer directly to Lady Rhea, is that correct?”

“Yeah, we’re real close.” Cyril held his head up a little higher, proud of his importance to the archbishop.

“If Lady Rhea were no longer giving you orders, what would you do?” Edelgard asked. “If she were no longer at Garreg Mach, for example.”

He’d be killed, that’s what would happen. He was Almyran and had no money or family connections. “I’m only able to stay here because Lady Rhea lets me. I don’t have anywhere else to go. So I don’t mind working for her, because it means I got a place to live and food to eat.”

“I see.” Edelgard’s face was hard to read. “But suppose that Fódlan were different. Suppose you didn’t need Rhea’s permission to live here. Suppose Fódlan were instead a place where everyone, regardless of birth, were judged on merits alone. No one would tell you that you had to leave if you didn’t want to. In that kind of Fódlan, what would you do?”

Cyril thought about it. He couldn’t imagine the kind of Fódlan Edelgard was talking about. The strong had always trampled on the weak; that was just the way the world was. That was the kind of world where Cyril knew how to survive. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I guess I never really thought about it.” He was too busy trying to keep the archbishop happy and himself alive and fed. 

“Would you like to live in that kind of Fódlan?” asked Edelgard.

How often was it that somebody asked Cyril what he would like. “Well, yeah, I guess,” he said. “Like I said, I haven’t really thought about it. But if there’s a country anywhere where nobody is oppressed by anybody else, then yeah, I’d like to live there.” 

“Thank you, Cyril,” said Edelgard. “That was exactly what I needed to hear. For your sake, I will do everything I can to make such a country a reality.”

“Uh, thanks,” said Cyril. What she was saying made no sense at all. She was the Adrestian princess, powerful as they came. What did she stand to gain from  _ not _ being able to squash him like a bug?

“There are forces in this world that seek to perpetuate the cycle of your oppression,” said Edelgard. “I hope that you can learn to recognize them. I hope that when the future I speak of becomes the present, you won’t be left behind.” 

What on earth was that supposed to mean? “Well, I’m training as hard as I can,” Cyril offered. It probably wasn’t the answer Edelgard wanted, but it was the only one Cyril had. 

“I’m glad,” said Edelgard. “I won’t keep you any longer.” She turned and walked towards the stables. 

Cyril stood a while in the breezeway, wondering. Why had Edelgard thought all that was so important to say? Why did she care so much what he thought? And was that future where all people were equal regardless of birth really possible? Cyril shook his head. He didn’t have time to hope. He still had floors to scrub.

* * *

Cyril cut the next step of his path a few weeks later, though he didn’t realize it at the time. It was a perfectly ordinary morning, with the dew still wet on the grass and the air still far chillier than he liked. Cyril’s task was to sweep the training grounds and oil the equipment before the students started arriving. He didn’t mind this task, but he would be lying if he said it didn’t bother him to have to wake up so early, before anyone else in the whole monastery. 

Much to Cyril’s surprise, he wasn’t actually the first one awake. When he pushed open the doors to the training grounds, he saw a familiar figure, drawing a bow. As he stood there, she loosed the arrow, and it struck close to the center of her target. She shook her head, and nocked another arrow. As Cyril stood there watching, the door closed behind him with a loud thud. 

“Who’s there?” said Petra, putting down her bow and turning. “Oh. It is only Cyril. Good morning.” 

“Good morning, Petra,” said Cyril. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“No, I am always happy to see you. Are you here to train with me?” 

Cyril shook his head. “Nah, I’m here to clean. I was supposed to do it before any of the students got here, but it looks like you woke up early.”

“I always wake up early to study or train,” said Petra. “If I am to achieve my goals, I must work with diligence. I am always thinking of the future.”

“The future, huh,” said Cyril. He remembered what Edelgard had said about him not being left behind, about a Fódlan where nobody was oppressed. “What kind of future are you thinking about?” 

“You know that I am a princess of Brigid. One day I will become the ruler of my homeland, and when that day comes, I will be negotiating independence from the Empire. To achieve this, I must be strong. Edelgard has given me a challenge, and I will rise to meet it. I will prove that I am stronger than all of the Empire.”

“You’re already really strong, Petra. But if you say you have to get stronger for your future, well, I’ll be supporting you. I bet you can do anything.” Cyril really did believe what he was saying to Petra and was looking forward to seeing what the future brought her, but he felt a hollowness as he spoke. What was his future going to be? Petra was strong, so she would be taking power, achieving independence. If Cyril couldn't do the same, did that mean he was--No, that couldn’t be it. He wasn’t weak. The fact that he had survived and gotten this far in life was proof of that. 

“Thank you,” said Petra. “You also are strong, and you always take your training seriously. Do you have a goal for your future that you are working towards?” 

That same question again. “To stay here forever at Garreg Mach” was the obvious answer, but in that future that Edelgard had spoken of, could he expect more from life? If Petra could dream of ruling over an independent Brigid and working to make that dream a reality, then could he perhaps dream of something different, something bigger? Was there anything that he could do to make that Fódlan a reality? “I don’t know. Maybe,” was what Cyril ended up saying. 

“Do you want to share your dream with me?” Petra asked. She had set down her bow and was looking at Cyril intently, like she really wanted to hear. Petra was such a dedicated friend, Cyril thought. She truly trusted and cared about him.

“It isn’t anything solid, really,” he said. “I just want there to be a future where I can dream, you know. The way things are, I can’t think about much besides work and how I can repay Lady Rhea, and before that I always just had to worry about where my next meal was coming from and how to make sure Holst didn’t hit me. I have to be safe first. I mean, I’m safe here at Garreg Mach, but before I can think about anything else, I have to know I’ll be fed and safe there.”

Petra nodded earnestly. “To have goals in the first place. That is an admirable goal,” she said. 

“You really think so?” said Cyril. He hadn’t thought about it like that. 

“Yes, I think it is,” said Petra. “And I will be supporting you in building a life where you can have a goal. You are my friend, so I want to help you.” 

“Wow, thanks Petra,” said Cyril. “I’ll support you too. Any way I can.”

* * *

Cyril was bringing firewood back in from the forest when he heard it. At first he thought it was an animal, something wounded and fragile. But when the sound came again, he recognized it as a woman sobbing. 

Cyril might have been busy, and maybe he could be a bit harsh, but he wasn’t a jerk. He certainly wouldn’t leave someone alone to cry in the winter woods. Not when they might be hurt, or a monster might find them. And so, Cyril set off, in the direction of the sobs. They were coming more steadily now and were getting louder. 

When Cyril found their source, he nearly dropped his load of firewood in surprise. That white cape, that armor, that ponytail: the woman resting her head against a tree and bawling like an orphan was the captain of the Knights of Seiros, Catherine. Cyril had never seen Shamir’s partner like this before. She was always so cheerful, so cocky, so ready-for-anything. What on earth could have reduced her to the quivering mess he saw before him?

“Catherine?” He started, but before he could say anything else, Catherine spun around, hand on the hilt of her blade.

“Who’s ther--Oh. Cihol’s tits, you scared me Cyril.” She forced out a chuckle, but it just sounded like another sob. “Sorry you had to see me like that.”

“No, don’t be sorry.” Cyril shook his head. “What’s wrong? It must be pretty awful if it’s making you cry, but maybe I can help.”

“Awful, huh?” said Catherine. She sucked in her breath. “I guess you could say that. It is awful to lose a friend like that.”

“Did someone die?” Cyril asked. He hadn’t heard about anything happening to any of the knights. Was it someone from Catherine’s hometown?

Catherine sighed. “It was a few years ago, actually, but yes. An old friend of mine from my academy days. We used to be inseparable, and we promised to be friends forever. But in the end, he died and it was because of me.”

“He must have really cared about you if he died for you,” said Cyril, misunderstanding completely. “I bet you were a real good friend to him.” 

Catherine looked down at Cyril, and her face crumpled. “No, no not like that,” she said, tears tugging at the edge of her voice. “He died because I killed him. I brought him to the archbishop for execution, Cyril.”

Oh. Cyril didn’t know what to say to that. Fortunately, Catherine kept talking.

“He was guilty of everything Lady Rhea said he was. He was taken in by some unsavory people and got involved in a dreadful plot. But why did it have to be me who caught him? Why did she send me? I mean, I know why. It was because he trusted me. He didn’t suspect a thing, just thought his old friend had come to see him, at least until I gave the signal and the rest of the knights came in. He trusted me and I betrayed him, all for Lady Rhea. And I can’t forget, four years later. Sometimes I just have to go off and cry about it for a while, you know.” 

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” said Cyril. He’d never experienced anything like what Catherine was describing, but he knew what it was like to have to sneak off somewhere to cry. He hadn’t cried since those awful early days at the Goneril estate, but still, he remembered. 

“If I cried in the monastery, I’d seem ungrateful,” Catherine continued. “I’m happy and honored to serve Lady Rhea. I’ve always said I’d do anything for her, and that’s true. I owe her my life. I just--” Catherine stopped. “Goddess, I can’t say it. Even out here where she’d never hear it, I can’t say it. Lady Rhea is always right. I’m nothing more than her sword. Nothing more.” 

“Catherine,” Cyril started, but he didn’t know what to say next. He understood the feeling of being Rhea’s, totally and completely. Speaking ill of her, of anything she did, was as unthinkable to him as it was to Catherine. And yet, why did he want to tell Catherine she was right to regret what she had done? Right to mourn her friend, to be angry at being forced to betray him? 

“Get out before it’s too late Cyril,” said Catherine suddenly. “Before you do something you can’t undo. I’ve already done the worst thing a person can do, because Lady Rhea told me to, and I’ll be regretting it until the day I die. I don’t want you to ever have to betray anyone. I don’t want you to end up like me. Anything is better than this. Anything. Just, get out.” 

“I can’t,” said Cyril. “You know I don’t have anywhere else to go. Besides, I have to pay back my debt to Lady Rhea. She took me in, I can’t just leave.”

“I know, I know,” said Catherine. “She knows that too. She knows you can’t say no to anything she asks of you.” She sighed. “How could she? Really, how could she?” 

Cyril stared down at the grass around his feet. His arms ached from carrying the firewood. He knew that someday, Lady Rhea would ask him to do something horrible, something he would regret. He tried to imagine saying “no.” 

* * *

The choice came at night. Lady Rhea returned from the Holy Tomb shaking and thin-lipped with rage and immediately called an audience with all the church’s people at the monastery. Cyril stood beside Shamir as Rhea addressed the assembled crowd of monks and knights. 

“That wretched girl Edelgard has declared war on the Holy Church of Seiros. She has crowned herself emperor, defiled the Holy Tomb with the aid of the imperial army, and is planning to attack here at Garreg Mach. The entirety of the Black Eagle House, along with the new professor, stand with her. We will not stand down! We will defend Garreg Mach with our very lives! Such traitorous rebels cannot be allowed to live! Commence preparations at once!” Rhea gripped the podium as she shouted. 

Cyril’s mouth went dry. War. War was coming here, to Garreg Mach. He had seen war before, at the border, and had always hoped to never have to see such things again. Garreg Mach was no longer his safe haven. Edelgard, the person who had once spoken to him of his future in a world free from oppression, had declared war on the church. On Lady Rhea. As Shamir’s apprentice, he would be expected to fight, of course. Would he have to fight Petra? He thought of Catherine’s words to him in the forest. Killing Petra, that was exactly the sort of thing Catherine was talking about. The sort of thing he would regret for the rest of his life.

“Shamir, I need to talk to you,” said Cyril, once Lady Rhea was done speaking. 

Shamir nodded. “I need to talk to you too.”

The two left the audience chamber and walked down the hall towards the library, where they could speak in private. “I don’t want to fight the Black Eagles. Why is Edelgard doing this? What are you going to do?” Cyril’s words came out in a rush. 

“I’m going to leave Garreg Mach,” said Shamir. “Edelgard has asked me to join her. I’ve considered my debt to the archbishop repaid for some time now, and Edelgard’s offer sounds interesting. I’m going to learn what the knights’ plan is, then leave in the morning.”

Cyril stared at Shamir. He knew she wasn’t like the other knights, that she was a mercenary first and foremost, but this came as a surprise. “What’s Edelgard promising you?” he asked. That was what he had to know. 

“A future without the church. A future without rank. A future where one’s birth doesn’t determine one’s fate. Where people are judged by merit alone. That’s what her war is about: eradicating the systems of crests and nobility the way the church upholds them. I have no love for Fódlan’s nobility. I’m interested in seeing how Edelgard’s future turns out,” said Shamir.

So Edelgard’s hypothetical was becoming a reality. A country without nobility or crests, without the church, where nobody was oppressed. Where people like Cyril didn’t have to rely on people like Lady Rhea for protection. Where he could choose his own future, based on his own strength. “That’s what Edelgard is trying to do, huh? I suppose I could get behind that.” 

“So you’re joining me? Good, because otherwise I’d have to kill you to make sure you didn’t squeal.” Cyril couldn’t tell if Shamir was joking. 

“I’ll join you and Edelgard” and Petra, Cyril thought. “But what about Lady Rhea? She’ll be real sad and mad if I betray her.”

“How long have you worked for Lady Rhea, Cyril?” asked Shamir. 

“Three years,” he said. 

“And your debt to her is?”

“She got me away from the Gonerils. And she gave me food to eat and a place to sleep.”

Shamir nodded. “Yeah, I’d say you’ve repaid her. But are you prepared to fight her?” 

“To fight her? I don’t know,” Cyril said. Fighting Lady Rhea...fighting back at the woman who had taken him in and given him a safe place to live. But that safety was gone, shattered. He’d lose it anyway. He remembered what Edelgard had told him about that future of hers, that she hoped he didn’t get “left behind.” He remembered Catherine’s “get out while you can.” If he had to fight Lady Rhea to escape, to make it to the future Edelgard promised, he’d have to fight Lady Rhea, whether he was ready to or not. 

“It’s either her or me and Edelgard. You’re going to be fighting one of us no matter what. War isn’t a joke,” said Shamir.

“I know that,” said Cyril. “I’m from Almyra, I know all about war. I’ll go with you. And I’ll fight Lady Rhea if I have to. War doesn’t care if I’m ready.”

Cyril thought he saw a flicker of a smile on Shamir’s face. “Good. It’d be a shame to have to silence you,” she said. “Pack your things and meet me by the stables at four.”

“Got nothing to pack except my bow,” said Cyril. “I’ll wait for you there.”

* * *

Before dawn that morning, Cyril and Shamir flew over the forest on their wyvern and pegasus, so low that Cyril could have reached out to touch the treetops. They were looking for signs of an imperial encampment, someplace close enough that Edelgard and the Black Eagles would have a straight path to attack Garreg Mach, but hidden enough that Rhea’s patrols wouldn’t find it. Fortunately, both Cyril and Shamir were excellent lookouts. The sun was just beginning to rise when Cyril spotted a camp nestled in the woods, and the two began their descent. 

They had only led their mounts a short distance before they were stopped. “HALT! Who goes there?” came the call. 

“We are here to join the Empire,” called Shamir back. “Shamir Nevrand and Cyril. We have left the Church and wish to give our might to Edelgard.” 

A duo of archers clad in imperial crimson emerged from the trees. “How do we know you weren’t sent by the archbishop?” one asked. 

“Think about it,” said Shamir. “If she knew where you were, would she have only sent the two of us? Check the nearby woods, we came alone.” 

The archers looked at each other. “This way please,” said one of them, and they began to make their way back towards the fort Cyril had seen earlier. 

When Cyril and Shamir arrived at the camp, they were greeted enthusiastically by Caspar and Petra, and skeptically by Hubert. “I’ll be keeping a close eye on you,” was all he said, however. 

Petra, on the other hand, was overjoyed to see Cyril. “You came! I had been thinking that I would have to say farewell to you forever, but you came,” she exclaimed upon seeing him. “I have great joy!” 

“I’m glad to see you too,” Cyril said. Seeing Petra so happy made him feel better about his decision. Ever since he left, he’d been doubting himself, wondering how Lady Rhea must be feeling right this second, imagining her hurt. “I just wouldn’t be able to fight you. And from what Edelgard told me, the future she’s trying to build is one where I might be able to think about my own. But there’s still so much I don’t understand. Why does she think that fighting Lady Rhea will make the world better?” 

“I did not understand at first either, but Edelgard has written a manifesto,” Petra said. “It has answered my questions. Edelgard has produced many copies of it; if you ask her I’m sure she will let you borrow one.”

“Oh. Thanks, but maybe I could just ask you questions instead?” Cyril didn’t know how to explain to Petra just how useless a copy of a written manifesto would be. 

Petra shook her head. “Fódlanic language is not a good way for me to be explaining such complicated ideas. Are you afraid of Edelgard? She is serious, but she is not so frightening up close.” 

“No, that’s not it.” Cyril sighed. “I just, I never learned how to read.”

Petra’s eyes widened. “But you lived for years at the monastery with the students. Did Lady Rhea never teach you?” 

Cyril shrugged. “It’s not like I was ever one of the students. I don’t have to read to keep the place clean. And I guess Lady Rhea was always too busy to teach me.”

“She was not too busy. She could have sent you to one of the professors or the knights. She was doing that on purpose,” said Petra, her brows hardening. “She did not teach you how to read because she wanted to keep you from rising above. I have no love for the Empire because it oppresses the people of Brigid, but the Church also oppresses the people of this country. Starting with you.”

“To keep me from rising above...” Of course he knew that. Of course he must have known all along that the reason Rhea had never taught him how to read was the same as the Gonerils’ reason. They didn’t want him to be anything more than a servant. They wanted him afraid and powerless to do anything but labor. They didn’t want him to think about his future or his position in the world. But Petra, Shamir, and Edelgard wanted more for him. They wanted him to rise, or to at least to think about rising. And Cyril, that morning in the fort, was beginning to want more for himself. 

* * *

As an old man, Cyril would look back on that first battle as the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. He was fifteen, attacking the only place he could remember feeling safe and the person to whom he owed his life. He had seen battle once before, in Almyra, but that had ended with him captured by the Gonerils. He barely knew what he was fighting for, besides his own freedom. And yet, he rode his wyvern with the rest of what Edelgard had termed the “Black Eagle Strike Force” all the way to the gates of Garreg Mach. There he waited, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, half out of his mind with terror, until Edelgard gave the command, and the world was dyed with crimson. 

Amongst the chaos of battle, there were two moments that would become etched permanently into Cyril’s memory. The first was when he and Petra found Catherine. She was transformed by battle, furious, her face contorted with rage. “I will slay all of Lady Rhea’s enemies, even you, Cyril!” she shouted, running at them both. 

Petra dodged the attack with grace and replied to Catherine’s cry with a strike of her lance. Cyril swooped in, swinging his axe, aiming for Catherine’s sword arm. When he connected, he drew blood. 

“Lady Rhea, I’m sorry,” said Catherine as she retreated, pushed back by their blows. But her face didn’t match her words. Rather than an expression of bloodlust or sorrow at her defeat, on Catherine’s face was a soft smile. 

The second was when Lady Rhea transformed. A flash of light and the woman Cyril had loved and feared and betrayed was gone--replaced by a massive white dragon. She let out a cry, and then she was no longer human. Seeing her like this made it easier. Edelgard was proven right, right about what Rhea truly was. Knowing this, Cyril joined the others as they charged forward, into the future. 


End file.
